


the light that sparks

by mlraven



Category: Original Work
Genre: Courtship, Earth, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Goddesses, Marriage Proposal, Nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25532908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/pseuds/mlraven
Summary: In other news, local earth goddess falls in love with kind-hearted gardener. And now, the weather!
Relationships: Confused Gardener/Earth Goddess Who Is Flirting By Making Her Garden Grow Like Crazy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31
Collections: Just Married Exchange 2020





	the light that sparks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [violia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violia/gifts).



> Happy Just Married, violia! I was so excited when I saw my assignment, because we matched on multiple fandoms and I was torn about what to write for you. Hopefully this was a good choice!
> 
> Thank you to E for the fabulous beta and cheerleading, without them this fic would not have ever gotten finished. Thank you to silverr for the marvelous second round of betaing, which tightened this up enormously and without whom this fic would not be nearly as good.
> 
> Names of gods and goddesses were primarily borrowed and adapted from Native American and African gods and goddesses (according to the internet, so, they could be completely misattributed).
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

When Marta moves into her abuela's old house, she also inherits half of the large field that borders the house, sweeping around the left side and flaring out behind, all the way down to the little brook in the woods. The other half of the field belongs to her as-yet-unseen neighbor: the split between their properties is marked only by a worn, waist-height fence that might have been new when she was a child.

Lita María wasn't much of a gardener, and mostly let the fields grow thick with tall wild grasses and flowers. Marta remembers running around in them with her cousins, hiding and chasing and giggling. The fence feels much shorter than it used to.

Marta thanks her lucky stars that she's arrived in late winter, just on the cusp of spring when there's an occasional warmer wind but mornings are still tinged with frost. This means that she won’t have very long to deal with the commute back out to the city, to her job at the university, and she’ll soon be able to spend all her time on her new land. After Abuelita moved out last fall, someone had come by to clear-cut the back field. She has an empty palette on which to plant.

She immediately begins planning an ambitious garden, both a strictly-plotted kitchen farm with squash, basil, and cucumbers, and more casual groupings of flowers, where sweet peas will mix with phlox and bleeding heart for a riot of color that shifts throughout the season. She carefully plans where she'll put trellises and stakes for her tomatoes and vining flowers, and draws a detailed map of where and when she'll plant each component. She leaves the strip of land along the dilapidated fence unplotted. If her neighbors have been here for a while, they know that her abuela never planted anything there, so they might've adopted the area and might have plans for it.

When she starts planting, making neat holes in which to tuck her bulbs, she finds herself humming Lita María's favorite songs, the ones that seemed to always be playing around her. It's almost like the house is suffused with the melodies, like the constant repetition made the music a part of the walls. The memory of the music also conjures the memory of her grandmother’s cooking, and she tastes the chiles almost as if there was a pot of birria on the stove now, the kitchen window open to let the cinnamon-tinged steam escape.

She considers stopping, but she finds the humming an unexpectedly good companion to her planting. By the time she's finished two rows each of carrots, spicy radishes, and sugar snap peas, she's belting her most recent favorite with no concern for her still-unseen neighbors. If they didn't surface when she tested the waters with her best rendition of Angel Haze, then the house may as well be vacant.

  
  
  
  


It's been many moons since she's been called; most people nowadays don't remember her, with the exception of the few wixen in the area. So when she awakens, she assumes there's been a call. As her consciousness trickles up from her earth to track her supplicant, she's surprised to find no obvious summons. She floats over her land in search of what woke her and finds only a young woman, singing tenderly to the earth as she smooths dirt over bulbs and seeds.

Etka hovers, drinking in the sight of the woman who unintentionally woke her. Her voice is beautiful, even if the songs are neither the newer druidic hymns nor the original native melodies she was born to. She loses track of time watching the woman, basking in her exultations.

She's jarred out of the peaceful, almost half-asleep state as the woman abruptly stops singing, saying, "Right, that's all for today." She watches the woman pat the earth lovingly once more before collecting her tools and empty packages and kneeling pad, and turning back toward the house.

Without conscious thought, Etka finds herself following the woman as she sets her bundles inside a small, semi-sheltered garden shed. When she goes inside, Etka abruptly draws up outside, hovering outside the large window to watch the woman carefully wipe her dirt-caked shoes on a bristly mat. The woman pulls her dirty shirt over her head and puts it directly into a machine, revealing shapely breasts. When she reaches for the fastening of her pants, Etka remembers herself, abruptly propelling herself backwards, flying into the air above the field. Her cheeks are warm and she feels tingly all over.

She can't remember such a thing ever happening to her before. She's heard from her cousin Amadeoh about their own encounter with a mortal supplicant who danced in lightning storms, but it's never felt this way for her. 

Still, she should keep an eye on this mortal. Purely for her own safety, of course: tt can be unexpectedly frosty in the spring, and Etka wouldn't want her to catch a cold.

  
  
  


Etka observes the woman through weeks of planting and singing, watching as she waters thirsty seeds, tills more ground, and gently pinches the weeds which sprout in the midst of her neat rows.

By the time it's warm enough that the woman takes her morning coffee in the earliest rays of sun, Etka is entirely fascinated. She spends all of her time watching the woman when she's outside and whispering praise to her plants when she's not. But she wishes she could actually  _ speak  _ to her. She has noticed that the land abutting this patch is unclaimed, that no mortals live or work in the grounds, so she...helps herself.

She takes an entire mortal day to make herself flesh, and to tweak the flesh so that it reflects her true self. She ends up with earth-brown skin and long, dark hair in a thick, complex braid down her back. Her lips are full; she absolutely was not picturing the woman’s ever-smiling mouth as she made her own. She adds hints of happy wrinkles at the corners of her warm brown eyes. She finishes by making herself appropriately earthen clothes, respectfully requesting flax from a nearby patch and asking its permission to dye it in pale greens, blues, and pinks with gifts from local nettles, indigo, and fir trees.

When she finally steps out onto her earth for the first time, she feels a sense of anticipation zinging from her earth up to sky, using her new body as a conduit. The dirt and grasses recognize her, sending up tender shoots beneath her bare feet as she walks. Behind her, she feels a joyful clamour of new growth, stretching toward her new form. She smoothes a hand over the stalks as she passes, feeling their spiky green delight at her presence.

She takes a moment to settle herself, feeling the pulse of the earth running through her. Then she approaches the wooden barrier that is all that remains between her and her fascination.

"Hello, stranger!" she calls. She's watched the locals and practiced mortal greetings on an East wind, so there's no way this can go wrong.

The woman's head jerks up, eyes wide as she stares at her.

"Oh!" the woman says, startled. "I didn't realize that anyone lived there! I'm sorry if my singing has bothered you." She stands up and approaches the fence, wiping her dirty hands on her dirty pants, then making a face as she realizes that she hasn't improved the situation. She thrusts her hand over the barrier, offering it to Etka. "I'm Marta," she says, as Etka takes her hand in both of hers.

"Oh!" Etka says, distracted by the beauty of the woman's— Marta's— name. She abruptly realizes she's still holding Marta's hand and reluctantly drops it, suddenly unable to remember the length of the standard mortal greeting. "Sorry, it is only that I have been gone a while, and I was surprised to see someone out here. Your singing is beautiful! I am Etka." She was doing a pretty good job of acting like a normal human who had returned from a trip away, she thinks.

Marta smiles warmly, eyes crinkling up, and Etka feels alight as Marta smiles  _ at her _ for the first time.

"I understand," Marta reassures. "As you saw, I was clearly surprised to see you, too. I'm glad I wasn't disturbing you, though!" She changes the subject. "Anyway, do you plan to do much with your backyard? I left the strip along the fence here clear, in case there was someone living on the other side who had grand plans." Her smile invites Etka to join in the self-deprecating joke.

Etka feels her mouth curving up in response. She clears her throat. "Ah, no, I do not have any grand plans for this part, so if you want to plant on it, please do. It is on your side of the barrier, regardless." She's not much for boundaries— land is land, no matter how humans choose to mark it up— but maybe Marta is.

Marta shakes her head. "I hadn't planned for it, so I'm afraid I've used my budget on the rest of the garden." She gestures at the land behind her. "I know it might not look it, but this should be lush in another month or so. I planned it so there will always be something blooming. Or at least, that's the theory." She laughs at herself. "This is the largest area I've ever tended before, so we'll see how it goes! If it's not exactly as I expected, well, that's just nature."

Etka is giddy, listening in awe to this mortal who is so respectful of the land that she doesn't assume she can force it to do her bidding. No wonder she managed to wake Etka unintentionally.

"Well, I am planning to do something with my space, so I am sure we will see each other again," Etka offers. She's realized that she feels irresistibly drawn to this mortal like moths to candles. This house and its land will be her home this growing season, and except for a few quick trips to check on and tend the rest of her earth, she doesn't plan to leave. 

Now that she can see Marta with two human eyes, she finds she never wants to look away.

  
  
  
  


After she meets her beautiful new neighbor, Marta finds herself making excuses to be outside as much as possible. Every time she steps outside, she finds her eyes automatically scanning the neighboring field, looking for Etka. It seems like no matter how often she comes out, Etka is always there. She gets used to seeing Etka's dark head over the fence, clearing weeds, planting a cacophony of flowers and herbs, and, oddly, gently relocating the worms and grubs she comes across in the dirt. She begins to bring enough lunch out to share with Etka, and they take to settling on a soft patch of grasses in Etka's field and nibbling on whatever she's made the night before. Etka, for her part, seems to always have a perfect cucumber on the vine that's just right to harvest, or a handful of sweet, small wild blueberries for dessert.

She becomes accostomed to Etka's habit of speaking of plants as if they have their own minds and wills and desires.

Sometimes she wonders why Etka has perfectly sun-warmed tomatoes several weeks before Marta's will be ripe, or how she's managed to find wild strawberries long past their natural season, but she tries to convince herself that Etka must just have more experience than she does. Her brain always detours from looking more closely, for some reason.

  
  
  


Etka forces herself to go inside the house for at least a few hours each night, just long enough to see all of Marta’s lights turn off before sneaking back out to the far side of her house, where a bed of grasses have woven themselves together thickly as an offering. Since she doesn't really  _ need  _ sleep, especially not during the growing season, she spends most of her time thinking about Marta, and what she can do next to please her.

She spends the daylight hours 'gardening,' which really involves watching Marta while absently petting the land, encouraging the plants to grow as they desire. With so many hours of sun and so many green things, she finds she has an excess of energy. Only a small portion is taken by the care of her larger domain, so she finds herself happily funneling the rest into the field she and Marta share. Everything competes to produce the fullest blossoms, the densest foliage, the deepest roots. The vines that previously sent only desultory shoots around the fence between the two houses pick up on Etka's feelings and industriously begin to weave themselves into the shapes of hearts.

Several weeks into their acquaintance, the vines are so thick and the hearts so obvious that Marta comments on them.

"I'm amazed by these, by the way," she says as she crosses back over the fence after a leisurely lunch under a shady tree on Etka's side. "How did you get them to grow like this? I bet it took a lot of twine!"

Etka blushes, noticing for the first time just how obvious they are. "Ah— no, I did not even ask them to grow that way, but now they are so beautiful!"

Marta smiles, unphased by Etka's odd phrasing after weeks of conversation.

"Well, my compliments," Marta says, stroking a hand along the whorl of a heart.

Etka's arm tingles, as if it were she Marta caressed, and she jumps a little, hand reflexively clasping her opposite shoulder as if she can feel the heat of Marta's hand on her skin. She stares into the middle distance for long enough that she's startled, again, when Marta clears her throat.

"I'd better get back to my tomatoes," she says. "They won't stake themselves!"

Etka blinks, refocusing on Marta's face and blushing again. Not for the first time, she appreciates that her skin tone hides all but the deepest of blushes.

"Right, yes! Well, good luck with them," she says. "Let me know if you want me to come over and give them a talking to," she offers, smiling.

Marta throws back her head and laughs, sunlight gilding her sweat-damp skin. "I'll do that," she promises.

  
  
  


When Etka goes back to her own tomato vines, which stand braided together without any support, she spends several minutes debating whether she should find some downed branches in the woods to put between them to look more normal, before shrugging and focusing on more important things, like figuring out how far she can stay from Marta's side of the fence and still whisper praise and encouragement to her plants.

  
  
  


Once, Marta marvels aloud over the speed of her garden's growth.

"I've never had any garden grow this fast or this healthily— no cucumber beetles, no blight, none of the astilbe even died, even though I planted them in full sun by accident!" She waves her hands at the riot of vegetation around them. "I used to think that my last garden was as good as I'd ever get, but this one just blows it away. Ever since I was a child, I always knew there was something special about this land. When we came here in the summers, I always felt warm and safe, like the earth was hugging me. I figured it was just an Abuela thing, but she never planted like this."

Etka's human body blushes so hard she gets a bit lightheaded.

  
  
  


As the summer goes on, Marta finds herself spending more and more time with her odd neighbor, debating and discussing and joking and teasing. She invites her inside for dinner, and lays blankets on the bare patch in the center of the field so they can watch the stars late into the night. They spend hours sitting next to each other on the edge of the small pond at the edge of the field, dipping their legs into the cool water and watching the dragonflies flit around. She realizes she has laughed more in two months than she laughed in the entire previous year.

She falls in love.

  
  
  


As July becomes August, Marta starts daydreaming about proposing to Etka and knocking down the fence— after the beautiful vines go dormant for the year— and creating one giant paradise together. She feels simultaneously like it's ridiculously soon to even consider proposing, but also as if she's known Etka forever. It feels like Etka has always been here, waiting for her to come home to this land.

She knows her days of endless gardening are limited, though. The fall semester comes ever-closer, and soon she’ll need to spend much of her time tweaking the syllabus and making sure she has all the readings uploaded for her students.

In mid-August, she realizes she needs to say  _ something  _ to Etka, even if she only informs her of her upcoming obligations. There’s no way that Etka, even with all her daydreaming, won’t notice that Marta's about to have less time to spend outside in the gardens with her funny, mysterious, beautiful neighbor.

She invites Etka to an extravagant sunset picnic. She spends hours writing and rewriting the menu to include as much fresh produce and as many of the dishes she's noticed Etka gravitates towards as possible. While debating which late-summer dessert to make, she stumbles upon a patch of strawberries, miraculously growing under the shade of a small tree, tucked up against the corner of her shed. The out-of-season berries make the decision for her; a strawberry pavlova with fresh whipped cream straight from Abuela's old mixer. 

She practices her speech, mumbling to herself as she paces around her living room. She wants to be sure that this goes as smoothly as possible and she makes her case well. Even though they've never spoken of it, she's pretty sure that Etka loves her in return.

Still, the enormity of the situation is daunting.

Finally, it's evening. Marta stops working early to be sure to have time to make the last-minute parts of the menu, like the fresh whipped cream. When that's done and re-chilling in the fridge, she takes a cool shower and gets dressed. After much debate, she chooses her favorite sleeveless dress, a deep blue floral piece which hugs her bust before flaring out and ending right at her knees. For luck, she adds a pair of orange topaz earrings that were handed down from Lita María as a college graduation present, then looks herself over for a final time.

As she packs the food carefully into a large basket she found in the attic, she tries to breathe out her nerves. She wishes she could take a few minutes to sit and center herself, but she doesn't want to be late for this most important date. Finally, the basket is packed, and her abuelita's quilt is folded on top of the contents, tucked under the handles.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, picks up the basket, and carefully shoulders open her back door. She wants to get everything in place before Etka arrives.

  
  
  


Etka is surprised to find the season has almost passed without her notice. The last time she spent an entire day amongst humans, doing a favor for her sibling Sikya and watching their Chosen, she’d been counting down the mortal minutes until they returned to release her. Now, she's so enraptured by Marta that she barely notices as the heat of the summer begins easing, ever so slightly. It’s completely predictable, but still the warning that her time in this mortal skin is coming to an end sneaks up on her.

When Marta mentions that she’ll soon be back to teaching, Etka is jolted out of her pleasant daze. She tries to smile and ask the right questions, but all she can think of is how to escape as soon as possible and think.

She even goes into the house to do so, for an added barrier between them. It doesn't work; she can feel Marta's glow through the walls of the house. She thinks she might feel it even if she visited her youngest parent Nerrivik's land, across the ocean.

Etka feels like she's vibrating out of her corporeal form; she hasn't had enough time! Three months of getting to know her has only hinted at the depth of her soul; she's only skimmed the surface. Etka desperately tries to think of ways to hold onto Marta during the winter without keeping her from what is apparently the sizable rest of her life. She's relatively sure that Marta wouldn't appreciate being turned into an immortal, but perhaps she could offer to become mortal herself?

She decides to call upon several of her greater family, including one to her honored oldest mother, Taiowa of the Sun. Maybe one of them will have an idea of how to solve this without becoming mortal, or at the very least, might be willing to lend her the power necessary to do so.

Once that's done, she forces herself to lie down on a patch of grass on the far side of her house, where Marta can't see her. She breathes, and focuses on tracing each delicate grass root to its furthest tertiary root. As she sends small, frenetic bursts of resilience down each one, she feels calm seep into her.

When she stands up to wash and dress for this pivotal dinner, she is no closer to an answer, but she no longer feels as though she might escape her human skin accidentally, so she'll count it as a win.

  
  
  
  
  


Etka approaches the meadowed spot Marta had specified, at the top of a small hill which affords a wonderful view of their gardens spread out below. She pauses when she can see Marta's back, one foot tapping restlessly against the beautiful quilt on which she sits. She spends a long moment trying to take in as much of Marta as possible with her mortal senses; if Marta rejects her, she wants something to remember of this magical season.

Marta twists around, beaming as her eyes light on Etka.

"You're here!" she says, jumping to her feet. "Please, come sit! I've made a few things to share." She gestures to the blanket which is almost entirely covered in heaping dishes.

Etka smiles reflexively in response, paradoxically feeling a bit of her nervo dissipate as she sees Marta's. "Is there a place for me to sit?" she teases. 

Marta's cheeks darken and she whirls back around to survey the blanket. "Yes, ah! Let me just rearrange some things…"

Etka comes up alongside her and kneels down, helping her shift things. "It's a magnificent bounty," she praises, and Marta's cheek flush darker. She studiously avoids Etka's gaze as she moves the last few dishes to make space for them to sit kitty-corner to each other, the food fanned out in two triangles between them.

As they settle down, Etka asks about the quilt. "What is this blanket? It's so bright and cheerful; it was clearly made with love in each stitch," she says.

Marta smiles wistfully. "Before her hands started cramping up, my abuela was a quilter. This is the one she made for me, when I left for college. Whenever I sleep under it, I always feel like she's there, tucking me in. As you can see, it also makes a good picnic blanket!" she says, changing the subject.

Etka lets her, just nods and asks about the foods. Marta walks her through the abundance scattered around them, and Etka fills a plate with some of each. She doesn't want to get her hopes up, but it seems as though Marta made some of each of her favorite dishes, which can only be a good sign. Unless she's trying to let Etka down easily…

Etka frowns for a moment before shaking her head to clear it. She knows she shouldn’t jump to conclusions, especially as she hasn’t even confessed yet, so Marta has nothing to reject. Still, she’s impatient and has newly-discovered she’s prone to catastrophizing. She forcibly refocuses on Marta's smiling face, lit from the side by the rays of sunset filtered through the trees.

They make light conversation as they eat, about what they expect to bloom between now and the first frost, and what bulbs Marta wants to get in the ground to prepare for next spring, and what of her excess harvest can be preserved, sauced, or pickled.

When they've cleared their plates, Etka sets hers aside and prepares to tell Marta everything. She’s rehearsed her speech, and knows the key points— she’s a goddess, soon she won’t be able to hold corporeality, she wants to become truly mortal for Marta; is that alright?

Before she can, though, Marta speaks.

"Etka," she starts. "This summer has been one of the most magical times of my entire life. I moved here thinking I'd spend a few quiet months alone, catching up on reading in between gardening a little. Making this space feel more like my own. But then I met you, and suddenly my life was full of laughter and wonder and so much happiness. I know it's only been a few months, but I've fallen in love with you. I'm in love with how deeply you care about every living thing, and how you show me different perspectives I haven't considered before, and how much you make me laugh.

"Every time I think of you, I smile. I know there are still so many things we don't know about each other, but I do know that I want to spend the rest of my life exploring and growing and laughing with you. Will you marry me?" She immediately looks down and clutches her dress, as if she needs to brace for the answer.

"Wait!" Etka cries, and Marta's head snaps up to look at her.

"Before I answer you, I must confess: I have not been honest with you!" Etka says, one hand thrust out toward Marta as if she was going to grab her hand but thought better of it. "I am a goddess!”

Marta tilts her head, lips twisting bemusedly. “A goddess? Of what?”

Etka takes a sharp breath, cautiously optimistic that Marta has not yet run away or begun screaming. “I am an earth goddess! A very minor, very local earth goddess.”

“...I see…” Marta says, still looking skeptical but beginning to piece things together.

Etka barrells on, “I should have told you sooner, but I was so entranced by you, I felt so drawn to you that I felt compelled to take this form to be closer to you. I am sincerely sorry that I did not tell you sooner, and I understand if you would prefer to have nothing more to do with me. I can...go back," she finishes weakly, waving a hand vaguely towards the ground and the woods.

Etka forces herself to look at Marta's face, searching for hints of her response in the unwrinkled lines of her brows and the dimple in her cheek which appears when—

Marta is smiling at her.

"I believe you, Etka," she says softly, smile widening. "I always thought there was  _ something  _ about you, especially when the vines on the fence grew into concentric hearts. But I think some part of me has always known what you are, somehow."

Etka gapes at her.

"You… knew? And you still want—" she cuts herself off. She can't say it; she might jinx it.

Marta beams. "Yes. I know, and I love you, and I want to marry you. Regardless of what kind of being you are."

Etka tries to gather her wits to respond, which takes longer than she would like. "I was going to tell you, today," she starts. "I was going to offer to become mortal for you, so that we could spend the rest of time together. I never dreamed that you might already know, or that you would accept me as I am."

"I love you whether or not you can make the vegetables grow more quickly than they should," Marta interjects, teasing.

Etka wrings her hands, continuing as if she hasn't heard Marta. "If I wed you as I am, we will only have the growing season together each year, until one day you have no more growing seasons and are returned to my earth. I will be alone, again. I have been alone for so long, but now I cannot bear to be apart from you for even the winter seasons. Half of a year spent asleep, when I could instead spend it with you, now seems a waste."

She takes a deep breath, taking Marta's hands in hers. "Please, let me join you here, so that we might spend the rest of our days together. I would be with you through the growing and the harvest and the fallow days; through drought and blight and flooding, just as through abundance and plenty and flourishing."

She subsides, gripping Marta's hands as if they are her tether to this mortal plane as she waits for Marta’s response.

Marta is beaming, squeezing Etka's hands in return.

"Yes!" she says, lunging across the quilt to throw her arms around Etka's neck, scattering the empty dishes.

Etka feels tears dampen the side of her face as Marta sobs into her ear, "Yes, Etka, my darling, I love you so much, I'll happily take you in whatever form you prefer. I would be honored to have any time with you at all, whether that's the rest of this growing season or every day of the rest of our lives. You are always welcome in my home, no matter what shape you take. I love you, and I'll take whatever I can get."

By the end of the speech, Etka's eyes are welling up, too. She tentatively presses a kiss to Marta's head, inhaling her herbal scent.

"Oh, my love," she says shakily. "I am honored to have any time with you, and I will mold myself to fit any offer. I have requested aid from several of my family members, and they have agreed to help with my transformation. As soon as they can help, I will be here for you, forever. We will grow together, for as long as you will have me."

Marta makes a happy noise and pulls back slightly, just enough to study Etka's face. Etka cups her cheek, swiping away tears with her thumb. They close those precious few inches and then their lips are touching and something is shooting sparks through their bodies. Marta deepens the kiss, and Etka pulls her down to lie on the blanket.

Surrounded by their carefully-tended nature, they learn each other for the first time.

  
  
  
  
  
  


coda:

Marta takes her morning coffee outside, hands wrapped around the mug to chase away the early Spring chill. The bulbs they planted as part of their ceremony are just beginning to send up shoots, and she knows a bed of crocus and snowdrops will appear any day now. Their riot of daffodils and grape hyacinth, though planted simultaneously, will follow at the normal human rate without any divine encouragement.

The back door opens and Etka steps out, wearing an oversized sweater and yawning.

"Good morning, love. I wasn't expecting you up for a while or I'd've made a pot of tea," Marta says, offering her hand in greeting.

Etka takes her hand as she tries to muffle another yawn in the overlong sleeve of her sweater. "I was not planning to be awake, either, but something...called me," she says, still blinking slowly.

Marta cocks her head. "Called you, like before?" The 'before what' is clear.

Etka shakes her head. "No, I don't think so. I'm still getting used to this form, so maybe this is just something this body does. Maybe it—  _ I _ knew you were awake."

Marta smiles and reclaims her hand to take a drink. Her ring, the twin of the one Etka wears, makes a gentle  _ tink  _ as it makes contact with the mug, and she, not for the first time, admires the way even the watery spring sunlight makes it gleam.

Etka comes closer and wraps her arms around Marta, tucks her head against Marta's shoulder.

It's not yet been an entire rotation around Mother Taiowa, but both women know that this is where they are meant to be: standing in the early morning chill, warmed by the other half of their soul.

  
  



End file.
